Masquerade
by waterlilylf
Summary: A look behind the masks; Zechs Merquise is ready to leave his past behind him, but is someone else prepared to move on with him?


Disclaimer: The Gundam Wing characters do not belong to me, and I make no monetary profit from writing.

Note: Many, many thanks to Kaeru Shisho and Snowdragonct for saying all the right things.

Warnings: A rather unusual pairing. To say the least…Ahem, this may not be the best story for diehard 3x4 fans. You have been warned.

**Masquerade: **

Unbelievably, there were people in the world who enjoyed watching small dogs dressed in ridiculous ballet costumes perform incredibly bad dances. Even worse, his sister seemed to be one of them.

It was hard to tell with Relena though; over the past three years she had perfected her appearances in public. Leaning forward slightly in her seat, and laughing at the dogs' antics, she could have been any nineteen year old girl enjoying her first time at a circus. It would make a very nice colour photograph for the front of the _Sanque Times_.

_Her Royal Highness, Princess Relena Peacecraft, attending a gala circus performance in aid of the Peacecraft Children's Trust._

She had become adept at this; at shading her personality to suit the appropriate occasion. He could do it too, of course; and far better, but then he'd had so very much more practice. Years of wearing masks - literal, figurative, what-have-you. Years of observing Treize.

Relena hadn't tired of it yet.

Everything about the occasion was giving Zechs a headache, from the awful music played - badly - by the circus orchestra to the pressures of being in charge of his sister's security.

Relena was a nightmare when it came to her own protection; it was no wonder Heero Yuy had resigned after a few months as her chief bodyguard. She'd insisted that this was a public performance, open to anyone in Sanque. Or anyone who could afford the price of the vastly inflated tickets. She'd refused to consider any but the most basic security measures, claiming that body searches would be an infringement of civil liberties, and that the presence of a detachment of Sanque armed guards would ruin the occasion for everyone else.

They had compromised, in the end. There were plain-clothes bodyguards sprinkled throughout the audience; armed, naturally. He hadn't thought it necessary to inform her of that, nor of the random searches as the audience had arrived.

'Aren't they wonderful, Milliardo?' His sister, his innocent, worldly sister, pressed his arm; a gentle reminder that the act had finished, and everyone was applauding.

_Don't clap, _Zechs thought whimsically_. It'll only encourage them to stay._

Yet another of those young women in a short, spangled costume danced into the ring, sweeping a curtsy in Relena's direction.

Zechs' eyes, sweeping the crowd, noticed one of the guards enjoying the scenery as the girl bent low to the ground. Martin, his name was. There would be an official reprimand, and he would be dismissed from Relena's security detail. Dorothy Catalonia, standing behind Relena, caught his gaze as it moved past and nodded. She'd noticed too. She was very good, really. A more than worthy successor as the Princess's chief of security.

And not given to leering at pretty young women; not a fault that Zechs possessed either, as it happened. The girl's companion was much more interesting, though. Who the hell had chosen that costume for him? Tight leather pants and studded straps around his chest. Very nice, actually; he hadn't been wearing anything like that in the few publicity shots Zechs had been sent. Not that the skin-tight green outfit hadn't been appealing enough, but the leather was…mouth-watering. Quite.

He was leering. Possibly drooling. Zechs tore his gaze away, scanning the crowd, and catching the faintest shadow of a smirk on Dorothy Catalonia's face. Damn. That was the problem with employing clever people.

The knife-throwing act wasn't particularly good. The girl had some skill, and was fairly good at working the crowd, hamming it up by pretending to miss or to be distracted before each throw, and dipping a flurry of curtsies whenever the audience applauded. Her partner wasn't helping though, standing there impassively and apparently trying to pretend he was somewhere else.

Of course, he'd never really been one to show his emotions, not even in private.

Zechs found himself wincing at some of the thrown knives, close enough to shave off the hair on leg or forearm or worse. Did he really trust her that much?

The acts went downhill afterwards. He thought perhaps that Barton might have been one of the high wire performers, but it was hard to tell. Three young men, identically dressed and masked, flying high above the ring. No net, naturally. He'd had to hold his breath a couple of times.

The ringmaster made a brief speech, thanking the spectators, and detailing how much money had been made. Then there was a chance to go backstage and meet the performers; something Relena had insisted on. She wanted to thank them personally. Another security nightmare; Dorothy's nightmare, starting the following day.

Perhaps she would have more luck instilling some instincts of self-preservation into his sister. He doubted it though.

There was a very fine line between graciousness and condescension, Zechs thought, watching Relena speak to the knife-girl. His sister tended to get it wrong more often than not, but most people were so overcome by meeting her that it was ignored.

'Your highness is too kind.' The girl, Catherine she was called, dipped a curtsy of the precisely correct depth; the performers had obviously received a lesson in royal protocol. He wondered what her brother had made of that. An interesting conundrum, really, for the Royal Heralds.

Was it strictly necessary for a commoner to use the title of a prince when the prince in question had already sucked him off? Or when the commoner had let the prince screw him?

Very interesting.

The Royal Protocols might need to be updated slightly, if things tonight were to go as he'd hoped.

'That was a very skilled performance,' Zechs told her smoothly, making a show of looking around the room. 'Isn't your partner here? I was most impressed by his fortitude; I imagine any man would be.'

The girl gave him a tight little smile. 'I'm afraid Triton dislikes large gatherings, your highness. I'll be delighted to pass your compliments on to him.'

_Triton._

Awful name; hardly surprising that he disliked it. He wondered if the sister knew that.

He disliked Relena calling him Milliardo, but he'd never told her. The name, for her, was a link to the past, to the brother she hadn't really been old enough to remember. For Zechs, Milliardo Peacecraft was a long-dead little boy, who'd been powerless to save his family.

Zechs Merquise, on the other hand, was more than capable of looking after himself.

Zechs - no, Prince Milliardo this time - said something else graceful and gracious and then turned to talk to a group of clowns. Grotesque, really; those ridiculous clothes and make up.

An interminable hour later, he was starting to wonder if his watch had stopped. Or if time itself had stopped. Who would ever have guessed that his rather proper little sister had always entertained dreams of running away to join the circus and was having the time of her life? He was terrified that someone was going to offer her a chance to ride one of the dancing horses, or an elephants.

'It's midnight,' Dorothy Catalonia announced, materialising beside him. There was a knowing look on her face that he didn't much care for.

Zechs raised one blighting eyebrow. 'And?'

'_Midnight.' _She repeated the word, relishing it. 'It does have a certain resonance in romantic fairytales, don't you think?' Damn, the woman, she was loving every second of this. 'You're not going to make him wait forever, are you?'

_If he wants me, I imagine he knows very well where I am_.

He didn't say it; that would have been far, far too pathetic. Even for a lovelorn prince at midnight, there had to be _some _standards.

_Lovelorn?_

_Am I? _

_Only for the past three years. _

'I'll keep the princess safe,' Dorothy told him. 'Your resignation was effective as of three minutes ago.' She gave him a little shove. 'Go!'

He would probably be with the animals. Ignoring the security signs that the animals' enclosures were off-limits to the public, Zechs skirted the stables, the dog kennels and found the caged big cats. And, not quite incidentally, the person he was looking for. He wasn't alone, however.

'…the Prince of Sanque, Triton!' The girl, Catherine was saying heatedly. 'He's important! He wanted to meet you! We can't afford to alienate people in his position.'

Zechs winced in sympathy; Relena sounded so very like that sometimes. That nicely blended tone of indignation and guilt and fear. But he couldn't be the person she wanted him to become; he'd tried for almost three years, and it wasn't fair on either of them. He wasn't really sure anymore who he was, but it wasn't Prince Milliardo of Sanque. And all of his sister's plan and wishes and dreams couldn't change that.

Trowa, another person with a long-lost sister hell bent on running his life, had understood that. Probably the only person, although he'd sometimes thought Yuy had sympathised a little. Or maybe it was just that he also knew what it was like to be the target for all of Relena's aspirations.

Well, she wasn't a little girl any longer. It was high time she started to live her own life. She would, he thought, be a magnificent ruler of Sanque in time.

'Just because you've decided to walk out doesn't mean the rest of us don't still have our livelihoods to think about,' Catherine said shrilly.

Ah. He'd done it then.

He didn't hear her brother's murmured response, but the girl flounced out.

'This area isn't open to the public. It isn't safe.' He hadn't changed, just pulled on a loose sweater over the leather costume. Otherwise, he'd changed slightly in three years. A little taller, a little broader across the shoulders. Nothing too dramatic; they hadn't met personally in that time but there had been photographs and a few vid calls. 'There are signs.'

'I saw them.'

'But of course such things don't apply to Prince Milliardo of Sanque.'

'Oh, possibly. They don't apply to Zechs Merquise though.'

'Milliardo,' Trowa said the prince's real name softly. He'd never called him that before. It had always been Zechs.

Treize had used his real name, sometimes, to hurt him, as a reminder of how much he'd lost, of what Trieze knew about him. Relena called him Milliardo to conjure up the past; when they'd been a happy family. Trowa was trying it out, he thought.

'It doesn't suit you at all.'

'It's a very old name in the Peacecraft family.' He grinned. 'Triton isn't much better. It is …good to see you again. Trowa.'

It was. He still wore his hair in the same style; that long sweep across his eyes. It still begged to be touched, to be drawn back and show his face. His eyes were still that lucent emerald; the deepest green of a cresting wave.

He wasn't fifteen any more. He wasn't the enemy and they weren't at war.

'You weren't at the reception.'

Trowa shrugged. 'Did you really want to have this conversation in public?'

'No.'

'Come on then.'

The caravan was oddly familiar; he'd been sent pictures. Barton was proud of it, considered it his first real home. Zechs knew that the blankets on the bed were a deep, warm red, that the shelf above the little table was packed with a battered selection of classic novels and wildlife books; that he had photographs of his fellow Gundam Pilots.

Even Winner.

Now that he was here, finally, he couldn't think of what to say.

'I got your email. You resigned.'

Zechs nodded. 'I was expecting you to call.' He knew that he sounded pathetically like a teenage girl, jilted by the boy who'd taken her number and never used it. 'I would have liked to talk to you.'

'You needed to make that decision by yourself. Not because of me.'

He was right. Damn him.

He'd spent his whole life having a focus to work towards; avenging his family; fighting 01; freeing Sanque; freeing the Colonies. Destroying the Earth. Over the past few months, for the first time, he'd started to take into account what he, personally, might want to do with the rest of his life, and Trowa had been adamant that he make the decision alone.

He'd still allowed himself to hope, though, that maybe the other man would want to be a part of it all.

'Is this going to be the pattern of our relationship?' Zechs queried softly. 'Are you always going to be right?'

'Hardly.' Barton - Trowa - gave him a bitter little smile. 'Do we even have a relationship?'

'What else would you call it, then?' Zechs didn't know. They'd had one night together; they'd briefly met in space after that, and then at a few functions when the war had ended. They hadn't met since then; Trowa had been on L4 and then travelling Europe with the circus for the last year. He supposed they had a friendship, at the very least. He wanted more.

'I don't know.' It was so very characteristic; that painful, determined honesty. 'We had sex, three years ago. We talk, sometimes. I can't imagine that you've spent those three years dreaming about my ass.'

'On occasion. Yes.'

'If you just want a quick fuck, my friend Gino would be happy to oblige. He's an acrobat; very flexible. Or if you have still have that thing for older guys, our ringmaster took a shine to you.'

'Are those personal recommendations?'

'No.' He flicked his hair back, gave Zechs the benefit of both remarkable eyes.

'I'm glad of that.' He probably shouldn't have said that; it wasn't like they'd made any promises, any commitments. He didn't really have any claim on Trowa. He hadn't been exactly celibate himself, although there had been no one for the past few months.

Trowa just shrugged. 'What happens now?' His eyes, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not, drifted to the neatly-made bunk. Not unlike the one they'd shared in Antarctica, actually. 'Another quick screw before we say goodbye again?'

'I would like more than that. And you know very well that the first time meant more.'

God, it was so true. It was one of the bright memories of that year; being with Trowa for those few hours. Yuy had insisted on staying in the hangar all night; keeping vigil beside the Gundams. Zechs had shown Trowa to the sleeping quarters, although neither of them had slept that night.

He'd never liked sleeping alone, the night before a battle. Trowa was a soldier too, and understood that need for company. It had been unlikely that either of them would survive the next twenty four hours. That any of them would be alive. Whoever survived the duel would still have to face the OZ troops.

He hadn't looked for anything more than a fleeting satisfaction; he didn't imagine that Trowa had either. But every touch, every sound, every glimpse of Barton's body was etched, diamond bright, on his mind.

'Tell me it wasn't special for you too. _Tell me_.'

Trowa hunched one shoulder, and then wrapped both arms across his chest. 'It's always special, the night before you think you might die.'

'_Really_?' Zechs snapped and then bit off the next question before the words could take shape on his tongue.

'_Was it ever like that with Winner?'_

They both had a past. Zechs believed he was over Treize, which was more than could be said for Chang, poor sod. But he'd never really believed himself to be in love with the general, apart from a few months when they'd first got together, and he'd been utterly smitten.

It hadn't lasted.

Trowa claimed that he was over Winner, but it was hard to forget one's first lover, first love.

'It's not like it was even my first time. Quatre Winner got there before you,' Trowa echoed his thoughts uncannily.

'I'm sorry.' What else was there to say? That Winner was a fool? In truth, he wasn't all that sorry, anyway, except that Trowa had come out of that affair badly hurt, and disinclined to trust anyone.

'Yeah.' He looked down at his hand, lying on the table. Very close to Zechs'. 'I never really thought we'd be together forever. And I got to have him for a little while.'

'I'm not Quatre.' Stating the obvious, of course, but there was a subtext there. He'd been willing to put Trowa first, unlike Winner. And Trowa had turned him down flat, originally.

'I did notice that.'

Zechs allowed himself a very faint smile, mirroring the very faint softening of Trowa's expression. It was almost unnoticeable; just a glow in his eyes. 'So very perceptive, all of you Gundam Pilots.'

'How does it feel, now you've resigned?' Trowa wondered.

He hadn't just resigned as his sister's head of security. He'd relinquished all claim to the Peacecraft Throne. Something he would have done years ago, if Relena hadn't convinced him otherwise. That much wasn't public knowledge yet.

'Ask me tomorrow morning.' He hadn't actually meant that to be so blatantly suggestive.. He wanted so much more this time than a quick fuck, as Trowa had termed it. 'Terrifying. Exhilarating. You were right; it is rather vertiginous. I don't think I've ever possessed this level of freedom in my entire life. I'm not quite sure what to do with it.'

'No plans at all?' There was that half-remembered, teasing glint in the green eyes, all of a sudden. He'd been so very adamant that Zechs make this decision alone; not change his life to suit yet another person. He'd insisted that he wasn't worth it, which was untrue, but Zechs had played along anyway.

'Perhaps a few. I may have a - proposition for you to consider at some point, actually.'

He'd forgotten how those amazing eyes could spark when he was interested in something; how those gold flecks could light up. One eyebrow arched slightly in an unspoken question.

'I'm not sure, actually. It's just a possibility. Perhaps you have plans of your own that we need to take into account?'

'Not specifically. You heard Cathy say I'd decided to leave, right? There aren't a whole lot of options out there for someone like me.'

'Preventers?' Zechs didn't know quite why he'd said that; playing devil's advocate perhaps and Trowa just snorted at him.

'Work for Une? No chance. I'd prefer to have knives thrown at me on a regular basis.'

'Will you miss the knives?' He knew well enough that Trowa hadn't been overly happy at the circus. He'd tried; he'd tried to be a part of it. The circus and his sister had offered him a refuge after Winner, when he'd needed it most.

'I'll miss some of it. There were times when I could pretend I belonged; that I had a home.' It was shattering; that particular brand of honesty. There was no dissembling with Trowa, not ever. Zechs loved that.

'I'd like to travel a bit, maybe,' Trowa mused, going back to Zechs' earlier question. 'I've got some money saved. Enough to see a bit more of the planet. Visit friends.' He smiled faintly. 'I'm not sure, yet. I thought, perhaps, I'd wait and see if I'd have a travel companion.'

'You didn't need to doubt me.' It would have stung more, that last comment, if Zechs hadn't known how badly he'd been hurt.

'I'm sorry.' Trowa reached out, for the first time, sweeping the long bangs out of the prince's eyes. It felt wonderful; the light touch of those warm fingers. So long since anyone had touched him like that. He'd missed that gentleness.

Not that there hadn't been plenty of willing applicants ready to warm his bed. He was Treize Khushrenda's former lover; Relena Peacecraft's brother; the man who'd almost destroyed the planet and helped, at the last minute, to save it. He wasn't particularly vain, but he had personal charms of his own, and a title, and a certain…notoriety.

There had been a few _quick fucks_, over the past few years. Nothing that had come remotely close to that night of ice and fire that he and Trowa had shared.

'You look different, without the mask.' He'd taken it off for him, that night, because Trowa had asked, and he could do nothing more than match the courage and candour of the other man. But it had been mostly dark; they hadn't dared to attract attention by turning on the lights.

'Good different?'

Trowa chuckled. 'Never would have thought you'd be angling for compliments. But yeah, good different. Very good.' His fingers, moving slowly, danced along Zechs' jaw line; a tantalising kiss of flesh against flesh that made the prince lean into his touch. 'So..what's this plan of yours? Or is it a secret?'

'Not if you keep doing that, no. Truly, it isn't a plan. But I've been offered a job with the Royal Forestry Service. I'm not sure how much you know about Sanque's history after the monarchy fell, but the Alliance tried to rape us of all our natural resources. Our hardwood forests were decimated, for fuel and building materials. A century ago, we had the largest wolf population in Europe; nowadays, there are less than a dozen breeding pairs. A week hunting wolves or bear in Sanque used to be a perk of the Alliance high officials.'

Treize had always kept wolf-skins on his bed…

'The Forestry Service is planning to reseed the forests, reintroduce native species. They'll be recruiting over the next couple of months. They need someone to oversee the programme. If I took it on, I would need someone to help me.'

'I don't know all that much about trees.'

He hadn't shot the idea out of hand; that was good. 'You know about animals. You know about how to survive in the wilds. There will be problems with poachers; perhaps dangerous problems. I can show you the literature. It's a possibility, if you're remotely interested. '

'I could be.' Those long, lethal, gentle fingers twisted around a lock of his hair. 'Do you think we could work together?'

'We could try, don't you think? Trowa, it's just a suggestion. I don't know what to do next, for the first time in my life I don't have a goal. Well, only one. I want to be with you.'

'You hardly know me.'

'Then we have an excellent place to start, don't you think? We can start to get to know each other. The circus is here for another couple of weeks, I understand. There isn't a performance tomorrow night; we could go out together. Dinner, perhaps.'

'Are you asking me for a date?' Trowa sounded amused, bemused, slightly incredulous.

'Of course I am. Are you going to accept?' He grinned, trying to hide a little spark of sorrow. Had no one ever asked Trowa out before, that he found it so strange? 'I hadn't thought you were the sort to play hard to get.'

'You've been playing it pretty cool yourself,' Trowa told him. It sounded like something Maxwell might say. Odd, he'd never thought of himself as particularly jealous; it wasn't as if anything would ever have happened between them. Not in a universe that contained Heero Yuy, at any rate. 'And I'm not playing hard to get. I'm just not sure what to say.'

'A simple _Yes_ will suffice. And it is polite to express a little gratitude.'

'Yes, then.' He said it quickly, dropping his eyes. Zechs had never seen him bashful before; it was rather charming. 'Thank you. I - ah - don't know much about the whole dating thing.'

'It's just dinner.' This time, Zechs was the one to reach out first, taking Trowa's hand. The first time he'd touched the other man in too many years. He felt warm, solid. 'Perhaps some drinks, after. Or dancing. Have you ever been to a nightclub?'

Surprisingly, Trowa nodded. 'Duo's dragged me to a few.'

That particular image conjured up a kaleidoscope of rapidly whirling feelings. Jealousy, lust, need. 'I'd like to dance with you very much.' He'd have to be a wonderful dancer, of course. Flexible, graceful, musically gifted.

The hand touching Trowa's slid up his arm, cupped his shoulder in a brief squeeze, and settled on the back of his neck.

He remembered this so well from a different world; a different time. Trowa Barton loved having the back of his neck stroked. All that hard muscle and sinew relaxed at the first caress, and he practically purred with the pleasure of it.

'And after the dancing, your highness? What happens then?' He was smiling, teasing; that beautiful mouth lush and so very kissable. They'd shared a bottle of cheap beer that night; the only alcohol available, and Trowa had tasted slightly bitter, the first time they'd kissed.

'Why don't you,' Zechs stopped his gentle stroking, and cupped Trowa's nape, pulling him closer, 'use your imagination?'

The kiss was very soft, very slow. Just enough to realise that the odd, unexpected connection they'd once felt was still there.

This, unbelievably, was going to work.


End file.
